Izzy screams, while I hold in my grunt, desperate to not show her how much this hurts. The pain and fear in her eyes would bring me to my knees if I could move.
“I’m okay,”I mouth to her just as Marcus pushes the blade slowly into my side. I can’t hold in my cry as he rips it back out. Then his fist is slamming into my gut.
I lose track of the pain after a while. I focus on Izzy. On her perfect face that’s marred by tear tracks. One that holdsdepths of heartbreak.
But then suddenly—
The torment stops.
My body hangs limp, my head struggling to keep from lolling forward. Blood drips onto the floor below.
In my peripheral, Marcus steps back. He turns, leaving me in my cell.
But then the keys jingle as he unlocks the door to Izzy’s.
“No!” I roar, the sound loud, breaking free from deep within despite the lack of energy left inside me. “Iz!”
She locks eyes with me, then nods, closing them–resigning herself to whatever waits for her.
Marcus chuckles at her. He unbinds her from the table—the bruises around her wrists and ankles sends anger coursing through me.
I pull at the restraints holding me up, but they're strong.
“Izzy, baby. You gotta fight.”
She looks at me—so much resignation in her expression. Marcus steps in front of her view, blocking her from me.
“If you don’t want me to hurt him again, then you’ll do exactly as I say.”
There’s silence until he taunts, “Use your words.”
“Okay,” Izzy whispers—a broken sound.
“Iz, don’t listen to him. You fight, okay? Get both of you out of here.”
She sucks in a breath. I can’t see her, but I can feel her brain whirring, the cogs turning.
Marcus turns toward me. “You’re going to watch me fuck your wife, and she’s going to love every second of it. Just like the good little whore—”
Before he can finish, Izzy lunges forward, her hand curling around the knife in his hand. Blood drips as her palm closes around the blade, but the surprise is enough for his grip to loosen and for her to grasp hold of it.
She kicks out at him, sending him stumbling back as he hits the metal bars.
Izzy wastes no time. She brings the knife up above her head then swings it down—once, twice, three times. She stabs him over and over until she’s sure he’s dead, then a couple moretimes, just for good measure. The vindication—the satisfied gleam—in her eyes is clear.
She needed this.
48
We’re Okay
I found a four-leaf clover today. I wished for you to come back. —Hoping, Izzy
Izzy
Mychestheaves,airracing through my lungs as I stare down at the mess in front of me. At Marcus’s blood-soaked body.
I close my eyes.
